


Ruby Slippers

by amorekay



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: A Wonderful Life
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/pseuds/amorekay
Summary: The heel breaks and Muffy slips off the counter—a heart-jolting moment of clarity—before her palms hit the floor and her knees bang against the wood. Isn't this typical. (Muffy!centric)





	Ruby Slippers

**Author's Note:**

> Moving some old fics over from ff.net. Originally published [there](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6543491/1/Ruby-Slippers).

The heel breaks and Muffy slips off the counter—a heart-jolting moment of clarity—before her palms hit the floor and her knees bang against the wood. What if that'd been my face—she thinks, but her first reaction is to laugh. Haha, isn't this typical, hahaha.

The bar is laughing with her, mostly drunk and not too concerned when presented with an easy alternative to caring. She tugs the shoe off and gathers up the remains of her dignity, readjusting her hair and limping out the front door.

"Hey," Griffin calls from the entrance, five minutes later, after she's wiped the snot and stray tears from her face. "Are you okay, doll?"

"Yeah," A giggle. "That was silly of me."

He gives her that look—something between a caring father and a lover, the look that makes her cringe because it's wrong on so many levels. She would love him, if only he didn't try so hard to be the parent she never had. "I think I'm going to take a break, is that all right?"

"Of course, sweetheart." He says. There's a ruckus inside, and he gives her a half-humored shrug and turns back. "Take all the time you need."

She walks to the river barefoot, her heels abandoned in a sad heap by the bar's trashcan. The gravel underneath her feet almost makes her think of sand. With her knees and palms stinging, it's almost like being ten again, taken to the beach by a rich grandpa she only saw a few times. Pigtails flying, she'd tumbled right into the water and tripped over drifting seaweed, catching the skin of her hands on rocks beneath the waves.

She's still careless, accident prone, but the rocks are boyfriends' callous words as they toss her aside, used up like tissue paper or broken like the red heel. Another sob threatens to rise in her throat, and she thinks of what her mother always used to say. 'You're not pretty when you cry, Muffy. Nobody's going to like you now.' So stop _crying_.

She digs her toes into the gravel.

Ten minutes later, her lips freshly bitten to make them appear redder than ever and her shoes still forgotten outside, she climbs back onto the bar counter and calls, "Who's ready for round two!" There's a roar of approval, and satisfied, relieved, _tired_ , she obliges with a song.


End file.
